The Pleasantville Strangler
by VanillaSpiders
Summary: It's complete and utter cruel irony that the Pleasantville Strangler's first REAL strangulation victim is the same guy who performed an English report on him just a few days ago, Merton decides. A rework of the end of The Strangler episode. TommyxMerton


**Title:** The Pleasantville Strangler  
**Fandom:** Big Wolf on Campus  
**Pairing:** TommyxMerton  
**Rating:** T- mostly for language though  
**Warnings:** slash,  
**Words:** 2,910  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own BWoC-Even though the series has been off air for YEARS now.  
**Summary:**  
It's complete and utter cruel irony that the Pleasantville Strangler's first _real_ strangulation victim is the same guy who performed an English report on him just a few days ago, Merton decides. A rework of the end of The Strangler episode. TommyxMerton  
**Author's Comments:** After I watched this episode, I rewound it and watched it several more times to get everything just right because, per usual, a plot bunny had struck me on the head with a mallet and wouldn't let me sleep. I swear, there are just times in this show, this episode especially, where you go: "Tommy. Merton. YOU GUYS HAVE MORE SEXUAL TENSION THAN DRAKE AND JOSH."

"Now that Tommy is out of the way, I could be _your_ sidekick!" Desperately the Goth threw a weak punch to the stone ghost's cheek, doing less damage than Tommy had done minutes ago when he'd tried to deck the spirit in the stomach. "I-I could organize your office, decal your car-_rrgh_!" Merton's voice left him as the ghost squeezed tighter around his tender neck, his lungs fluttering for air already. Strength left his limbs as he fought for precious air to his body, his heart was a hummingbird in his chest.

"I-Ihh-" His voice hadn't squeaked this badly since puberty hit back in freshman year. Soon Merton couldn't think straight, let alone form coherent tones or pleas for help. The ghost watched with obvious satisfaction as Merton's struggles lessoned.

'_Tommy.' _The only guy who would come close to saving him-who even _cared_ enough about him in the first place that thought he was worth saving-was down an old well and probably had broken something if he wasn't already dead. He was a werewolf for crying out loud-not a werecat! Who knew if he landed on his feet! The spiky-haired boy's limbs shut down and hung as he stopped his movements, long pale fingers slid from their grasp around the thick stone arm and fell uselessly at his sides. He'd been too long without even a smidgen of air, and his body was shutting down to protect itself. It's complete and utter cruel irony that the Pleasantville Strangler's first _real_ strangulation victim is the same guy who performed an English report on him just a few days ago, Merton decides.

He couldn't save Tommy from being thrown down the well, he couldn't even save himself. A small whine slipped past his pale lips as his eye lids fluttered closed, and the last thing his mind fully recognized was a distinct howling that reverberated spine-chillingly off the yellow lockers surrounding them as he lost consciousness.

Tommy, on the other hand, was faring off much better than his friend, despite his sudden and abrupt descent down the damn well. The jock rose to his feet as the wolf surged out, his acute senses picked up a body making that unmistakable thud against a bunch of lockers, and Merton's frantic negotiations from above.

At first he was slightly ticked Merton was trying to side with his would-be killer, and that made him growl in the back of his throat as he prepared to climb out of the well.

Then he realized Merton had fallen suspiciously silent and was no longer pleading or gasping for air. The only reason Merton was ever quiet was when Tommy telling him to shut up or-

Or he couldn't find the air to talk in the first place.

The wolf erupted, enraged at the ghost. Crouching low and kicking off the dank and musty pit of the well, the werewolf surged upward in a single leap, cleared the expanse of the hole. Tommy landed effortlessly in front of the hole, cracking his knuckles. "Let's rock," He growled, before rounding on the ghost and Merton and-

Tommy went stock still for a split second.

Merton wasn't moving. Not even a little, not even twitching. His eyes were closed and his form limp in the grasp at his throat the stone behemoth still had. That fucking ghost had actually managed to do it. The Pleasantville Strangler had _actually_ managed to strangle someone. And that someone was Merton. The Strangler turned his face to Tommy, obviously startled at Tommy's quick recovery as his eyes went wide, on his otherwise featureless face.

Hot fury blinded the werewolf and clouded his thoughts as he roared at the ghost. The wolf fought with open ferocity and with terrifying strength as he kicked the Strangler back from Merton, cracking one of his arms off.

Tommy wanted to turn around and immediately check on Merton, but the wolf persisted on removing the immediate threat in the area, and was lusting for revenge on Merton's behalf. So Tommy stalked after the stumbling giant and punched him with enough force to shatter stone.

"_I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET!"_ Tommy bellowed.

Which is exactly what it did-shattering the left arm of the statue right off and leaving the ghost limbless with no one else to possess. Somehow the face contorted, showing distress and-the werewolf sneered-fear. Tommy had scented Merton's fear enough to recognize the scent on other people, but instead of making him protective like he did when he smelt Merton's fear; it only angered the wolf more inside him. Every fiber felt awake with raw power, and the werewolf craved blood and penance. He grabbed the ghost roughly and slammed him, again and again into the wall so much the statute's stomach started cracking.

"_I'm going to kill you_," Tommy seethed. "I'm going to kill you like you killed Merton, and I don't care if you're already dead because I can guarantee this death is going to hurt so much more than the first time." Using his remarkable strength, Tommy wheeled the statue around so its back was to the hole and started pushing roughly with his hands so the ghost backed the vessel up.

He opened his wide mouth, letting the Strangler get a good look at his wicked set of teeth. "I can bite through stone, you know. But I have a better idea." Tommy hissed as the wolf became too strong for Tommy to control at this point. With a final, thundering battle howl, Tommy actually **picked** **up** the statue and sent it FLYING into the black gaping hole from which he'd came. The werewolf watched with morbid fascination as the figure pelted down into the pitch blackness of the well, unable to leave his vessel and unable to climb out. Even his beloved hands were gone-and Tommy would grind them into dust when this was over. A beautiful clang sounded far, far below as the ghost screams decrescendoed and abruptly ended.

Half of Tommy wanted to down and finish the job, personally escort the Strangler to the gates of Hell-but another half, a desperate half that sounded oddly of the wolf, wanted something entirely different and that yearning made him back up from the hole and turn to the lockers.

The wolf wanted Merton. Wanted Merton's scent of aged paper and vanilla candles and the hair gel he used to spike his hair every morning. Wanted Merton's odd tone pitches in his voice and Merton's excited rambling over the obscure and occult and that dorky laugh and wanted Merton at his side, under his watchful gaze. Tommy's werewolf eyes shot through the gloom and dark hallway and landed on Merton's prone form not far away, and he hurried over with lightning speed to Merton's side.

"No." Carefully he rolled the boy over onto his back. He needed Merton-he needed Merton _badly_ and he was willing to submit to this weakness of his if it meant he could have the boy moving and speaking to him again.

Tommy lifted the still Goth up by his shoulders, curling an arm around those narrow shoulders and half cradling him off the ground. Merton's head fell back pathetically, neck stretched awkwardly and exposed for the world to see. Littered with bruises, Tommy stared at the dark red and purpling contusions in the shape of the statute's fingers. Tommy could clearly see where the ghost had pressed his thumbs up into the boy's jugular, effectively silencing Merton.

Maybe forev-the werewolf threw his head back and bayed, a cry racked with pain and anguish and misery and broadcasting that he'd just lost everything, everything dear to him.

But Tommy fought back. He couldn't lose Merton-not when he needed him, not when the wolf needed him this much.

Laying Merton down the werewolf frantically recalled the CPR classes at the Y his mother had made his take when he was fourteen.

He began chest compressions, pressing down in a rhythmic beat on the pale boy's sternum, breathing deeply himself to avoid using too much strength and breaking Merton clean in half.

"Please buddy, please don't leave me." Tommy whimpered as he fought for the small Goth below him to continue breathing.

Focusing his attention on the next task, he craned over the prone form of his best friend, tilting that pointed chin back with a delicate claw tipped paw. Idly Tommy realized that if he never got Merton back he would never dewolf. Only the scrawny Goth below him could ever effectively sooth whatever was wrong with the wolf when he freaked out and transformed.

"Can't lose you," Tommy whispered desperately, before sealing his mouth over Merton's slack lips and giving his breath to him. Once. Twice. This wasn't how he'd fully planned on their first kiss being-but then, if he failed entirely to rescue Merton then this would be their **only** kiss and Tommy couldn't even fathom that thought.

His nerves running thin and the wolf's desperation mounting, Tommy felt himself grow mad in a desperate attempt to wake Merton up. _'You stupid idiot.'_ He thoughts as he began compressions a second time. _'He wasn't even after you; you couldn't have been a bigger coward and just run away? Why'd you have to stick around?'_

"Merton? C'mon Mert. T-time to wake up." He trailed off and dipped down to give Merton another breath, and his strength, coupled with his utter desperation for Merton, made the oxygen surge forcefully into the boy's lungs and his chest rose.

And rose again by itself before Tommy had the time to gather more air. The werewolf felt Merton's heart beat, timidly in his chest and still erratically. Below him, mere millimeters away, Merton gasped into his face, blowing some of his fur back. Tommy jerked backwards just in time for Merton's mouth to part desperately and his lungs to suck in oxygen by themselves. Those familiar brown orbs constricted freakishly as his eyes sprang open.

Blinking and gasping, Merton wheezed for air and found he had no energy to move, let alone lift his head to roll into a position that allowed for better air intake. He blinked several times, partly to clear the dancing spots in his vision and partly to see if what he thought he was seeing was true.

Tommy was _crying_.

Merton wanted to speak, to say something, anything. There was an apocalyptic meaning behind this somewhere; Tommy _never_ cried. All that came out of his battered throat was a pathetic noise that was fully incomprehensible and sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. Tommy must have heard him though, because the werewolf suddenly gathered Merton up and held him tightly and cradled, back into the crook of his arm, leaving his legs to hang over his lap and the rest of Merton to curl up against the solid form. His neck was absolutely killing him, and he had a feeling the pain would only get worse as it healed up, but he found enough coordination left to drop his check against Tommy's neck and bury his nose into the toffee colored fur that had spread around the jock's body. Tommy ran his fingers through the boy's hair as he tried to stop the tears from falling. He had never felt so strongly toward anyone as he did toward this boy right now. He'd almost lost him. For a moment, there, he had.

For several minutes, the only thing either of them focused on was Merton's breathing pattern as it evened out and bounced somewhat loudly off the lockers surrounding them.

As long as that sound was never interrupted again, intentionally or no, Tommy decided he'd eventually be able to relax and dewolf. In a month or two.

Because Merton, scrawny and curled up into him like this had woken every protective urge he'd ever had, and now he was starting to think he'd have serious issues with letting the Goth out of sight for more than a few minutes without the wolf's intent possessiveness waking up. The wolf was hell bent on protecting the boy that they'd entrusted nearly everything to.

As Tommy introspected, Merton stayed put in his arms. He could feel the thick muscles itching to tighten around him-and he was glad they weren't following through, though. At the moment he was gun shy of anything interrupting his oxygen supply, and even though he knew Tommy would never, could never, hurt him, and was only trying to look after him, Merton felt more than a little scared at his near death experience. He had actually stopped breathing back there. He had actually died.

Only Tommy had had to bring him back, and even though Merton had been questioning Tommy's protective urges and werewolf strength when Merton was threatened this past week, he know had his answer. Right now, it felt like Tommy wouldn't let Merton go for anything less than the world ending. Maybe not even that.

When Merton finally found the power and cerebral coordination to sling a thin arm around Tommy's neck and hug him back with that one arm, he heard the anxious rumble the werewolf gave from the back of his throat at Merton's timid gesture and made Tommy's sternum vibrate. The sound only affirmed Merton's earlier thoughts about the werewolf, a sound that told Merton everything that Tommy couldn't find words for himself.

'_He's stayed wolfed out this whole time. Even though the Strangler's gone.' _Merton couldn't help but think to himself when Tommy hesitantly hugged him back, trying restrain the wolf's enormous strength. _'He can't relax because the wolf still thinks I'm in danger.'_ Despite still focusing on calming himself down as well, the skinny Goth brought both hands up around Tommy's back and kneaded the werewolf's shoulders with care as Tommy responded by curling around him protectively.

"It's okay big guy." His voice barely hit above a whisper as it strained through aching muscles. "I'm okay, Tommy. I'm okay." The werewolf twitched to attention at the sound of his name coming from Merton. Just the sound of Merton's voice alone was enough to ascertain that he was still alive and well and safe in Tommy's grasp. The jock found his adrenaline ceasing under those long spindly fingers as Merton soothed the wolf's violent and erratic nature. His ears shrank down, then his claws. Gradually his fur started vanishing. Merton's voice in his ear, so soft and fragile, brought Tommy back down the reality.

"There ya go big guy. It's all good now. No one's gonna hurt me." Merton chuckled weakly, his tender throat a swollen aching mess of ligaments. "As if they'd get within ten feet of me at this point." He thought a loud. He felt Tommy's body give one last, drawn out shudder that passed through his entire form as the wolf withdrew physically from the boy.

His fangs-easily the most lethal part of him-gone now, Tommy bent his face into Merton's neck, felt the boy tense automatically at the gesture, and cautiously kissed that bruised neck. Now it was Merton's turn to shudder at the gesture. Tommy rumbled softly, nearly purring, as he massaged the contusions with gentle motions and nuzzles. He still didn't bear his voice to hold out, should it crack and give away the state he was still in to Merton.

But the Goth seemed to understand Tommy's current state of mind like he usually did, because he continued his ministrations and spoke just as softly in mantras of reassurance that, despite the Strangler' best efforts, he _was_ fine and breathing.

"Although he really gave it one hell of a try." Merton admitted as Tommy got to his feet, his grip having moved to hold Merton with an arm around his back and the other in the crook of his knees. Even if the wolf had withdrawn physically from Tommy, the thing never truly really went away from Tommy and he could still feel it lurking under his skin, poised and ready should something _else_ go wrong to day. Merton, admittedly, didn't mind the hold Tommy had on him, so he made no move to try and escape from the werewolf's grasp and simply let himself be carried.

Tommy made a noise that sounded like an agreement to Merton's statement and moved toward the stairs, having finally calmed down enough to trust his body to move without ripping out the next guy who looked at Mert the wrong way's throat out.

Holding both the knowledge and the proof Merton was alive against his chest and suddenly feeling relieved and deliriously happy all at the same time, Tommy walked up the stairs and acted on wolfish instinct to reach down and playfully tug at one of Merton's shorter spikes of hair with his teeth, overcome with emotions as the wolf felt the same way he did and showed it. "Hey, Mert," He released the spike after Merton's hand swatted him away, and simply rumbled happily with a lidded gaze into the boy's hair to draw his attention back to the jock. Merton looked up at him.

"How come the second I'm out of the picture you offer to be a _side kick_ to my _killer_?" He grinned impishly as he navigated up the ancient staircase. Merton flushed and tired to form coherent words, and a valid argument.

"_The nervous noises and stuttered out excuses Merton made was utter music to my ears, mainly because it meant Merton was still breathing to cower another day. And I wouldn't trade that for anything." _


End file.
